


Tears Chasing Castles

by electricskies



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Angry Kissing, Boarding School, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, High School, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Private School, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Trauma, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricskies/pseuds/electricskies
Summary: When Archie is sent to boarding school, he finds himself catching feelings for a certain blonde. As the two are constantly pushed into situations together, their liking turns to hatred. Will Betty and Archie end up destroying each other or give in to their inevitable feelings?Boarding School - AU
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 17
Kudos: 52





	1. For No Reason at All

**Author's Note:**

> TW: brief mention of suicide, blood panic attacks, and grooming, etc.
> 
> Safe reading.

He’d arrived at Cambridge in the back of his father’s Porshe. The long drive had left him in morning fog, that clouded his mind more so than the car’s windows. Nagging, old thoughts itched at his skull; Archie pulls off his cap and knocks it against his thigh.

Fatigue hits the ginger like a freight-train, his eyes begging to be closed, his body aching for relaxation. The twitch in his figure becomes more prominent as it casts a glance from the driver. He notices their arrival and sighs at his new reality, letting his hands fumble with anxiety. 

The attendee standing before him, along with another woman, cannot be described as handsome. Time hadn’t done him well, large bags fell under his eyes and wrinkles all across his displeased face. Archie’s arrival had evidently interrupted the man’s early morning.

“Welcome to Cambridge, Archibald.” There’s a slight tinge in his voice, an annoyance at Archie’s presence. “We’ve heard so much about you.” The man says. He politely thanks the two, attempting to make amends at the fault he’d unwillingly created. 

The cold man leads him through the school, the lady along side him, but not in the slightest letting the boy get familiar with his new surroundings. The air they’d conjured was painfully uncomfortable, the only present sound was the woman’s clicking heels on the hard tile and Archie’s luggage shuffling. 

“Your dorm room is number ten on the second floor.” The man gestures up the stairwell. “Dorms are usually shared. Two to a room.” He let’s out a harsh breath, “But upon request of your father, he suggested you have a room to yourself.” Archie shakes his head at the imposition. The man nods then leaves.

“Don’t mind him, he’s not one for bending the rules.” The lady laughs. A smile appears on the ginger’s face. “Try not to be late to class.” She hands him the keys, a firm grip holding them above his hand. “I’m sure you’re aware of the rules,” Archie takes the keys, nodding in response, reaching for his suitcase. “If you aren’t, the list is on the table.” She says, smiling once more. “Welcome, again, Archibald.” 

The quiet boy shudders from the information thrown at him, unaware he’d been singled out by not having a roommate. More like his father forgot to mention it. He trips while going up the stairs and hesitantly enters the secluded area, finding nothing but a small bed, a lonely desk, and a kitchen, if it could even be considered one. He hauls his belonging in and takes a look at the loft of papers containing the rule sheet and schedule. T-minus twenty minutes before his first period begins. Off to class he goes.

[...]

The new regime is positively mad for punctuality. So it says on the regulation sheet anyway. He’s early to his first class; English Literature. Students start fumbling in, girls start entering, causing Archie to flinch in confusion. A tall, scrawny boy sits beside him, his black hair protruding from his grey-knit beanie. He has a dark grotesque appeal, a sort of vile wittiness to him.

“Jughead.” The brunette gives out a hand. 

Archie shakes it, “Jug-head?” 

“Forsyth Pendleton Jones III, actually.” He reiterates, fixing the white collar underneath his wool vest. 

“The third, huh?”

“And you are? I haven’t seen you before.” 

“Archie Andrews-” He interrupts himself, “Sorry, but isn’t this an all boys school?” Archie asks. 

Jughead sighs, “So that’s what they told you? Well, technically, we’re not allowed on the girl’s side of the school, but some classes are combined and-” He nods off, eyeing a raven-haired girl. 

Archie taps his shoulder. “And?” 

Jughead turns, focusing his attention back to the topic, “And, we’re all required to take one mixed class.” He says as he opens his book attempting to read. 

“Oh.” Archie says simply. Watching other students funnel in, he finds himself fixated at certain blonde across the open room. Her presence was like a stone in his shoe, impossible to ignore. There are wispy bangs framing her face delicately, the bones on her cheeks stick out sharply, moulding her face, while a sheet of pink lay on them. Worn out freckles lightly scatter her nose and lead down to the grove of her upper lip, dotting just above the peaked cupid’s bow, outlining her dainty mouth. The rest of her sandy hair is up in a loose ponytail, positioned ever so softly, cascading down in neat curl as if it had always been like that. 

The impression of innocence and comfort disappears into her wicked equanimity; letting her foul actions be hidden by her stern magnetism, that was once inviting. That had once been loved. 

Her brows lift and eyes dart up to meet Archie‘s , cold and ruthless, catching his stare like she’d seen all _his_ wrongdoings in a flash. She was utterly still, the type of quiet that makes his skin crawl. The hairs on Archie’s neck creep up as she squints at him and he’s left with the suffocating heat encompassing his whole body. He reluctantly looks away, embarrassed. 

“Good morning.” The professor enters, “Please take your seats, quickly!” The man opens his briefcase and unloads files onto his desk. Archie notices the girl is still looking at him. “We have a new face in here.” The man raises an arm in Archie’s direction. He flushes, sinking into his seat. “Now, Attendance. Raise your hand and say ‘Present.’” The mutters of students causes Archie’s teeth to grit. 

“Andrews, Archibald.” The professor says. Archie raises his hand, “Present.” His voice cracks, he’s naturally unsteady. A giggle is made and his head snaps back to her, squinting in response, mouth forming a thin line. 

“Blossom, Cheryl.” He calls out. 

The other redhead in the room. A hand runs through her long, tight waves. “Present.” She says, annoyed, as if anyone could miss her presence. Dark red sequences and playful cherries decorate her uniform, standing out amongst the others. There’s no blood in her face, she’s pale as the dead. The only color standing out is her bright red lipstick. Jughead nudges him, shaking his head, as if to point out Cheryl’s bad news. 

“Clayton, Chuck.” The professor asks. “Present.”

“Cooper, Elizabeth.” 

The familiar green orbs meet Archie’s hazel ones, again. She raises an arm, body stiff as a wall, not daring to look away from the broad ginger, “Present.” Her chin juts proudly, and a gloom lingers on her face, following the lame silence as papers and books muffle about. 

“Doiley, Dilton.” “Present.”

An unspoken competition had been made, somehow, an arrangement deciding that the one to look away would succumb to the other’s inferior. She’s terrifying, he thinks, blood boiling. 

“Jones, Forsyth.” Jughead protests, “Here.”

“Keller, Kevin.” “Present.” 

“Lodge, Veronica,” The girl who had taken the dark-haired boy’s breath away previously. A posh poise frames her style, yet she looks just as blunt and crass as the blonde. Sheer white pearls drop around her neck and wrist; proper and neat, an expensive facade covering the grim and evil truths that lie within her. “Present.” She laughs pushing her glasses up. 

“Mantle, Reginald” “Present.”

The truce has not been broken yet, neither of them willing to break. None of this madness was worth reasoning, the pair didn’t even know each other — they’d never seen each other. Names keep spewing out of the teacher’s mouth. The clock’s ticks intensifying at every second that passes. Recycled gestures and feelings come up, leading them to wonder; what exactly were they doing?

“McCoy, Josephine.” “Present.”

“Muggs, Ethel.” “Present.”

“Topaz, Antoinette.” A build up to silence. Archie’s rapid heat beat slows, he lets out a congested breath, eyes not leaving hers. 

“Topaz, Antoinette.” He repeats. Nothing. “Is Miss Topaz in today?” Still _nothing_. “Absent. Now let’s move on to the lesson.” 

Archie’s leg jitters against his desk, his nerves building, causing the blonde to tap her pen. A ruckus of small noises form. Alas one of them breaks. 

Veronica tugs Elizabeth to the side, her eyes faltering down and around to her friend. The settlement broken, for now. 

[...]

Time fades and Archie’s lost within his own imagination, a treading fascination allowing him to wander into his deepest desires, yet he’s still conscious enough to steal glances with the blonde. The bell rings, dismissing students and they all rush out, leaving Archie there slumped on his book. His hand rubs his eye then down to the back of his neck. 

“Join me for lunch?” Jughead asks. “I’ll be out in the courtyard, you’ll find me.”

Archie’s there, nodding to an agreement he didn’t want to promise. Then Jughead’s gone. All he wanted to do was sink into bed and think and _dream_. The thought of food made his insides churn, he’d be satisfied with a cigarette, nothing else. 

The next three periods pass with ease, Archie forgetting how he’d even gotten to class with state he’s in. A harmless drunk, minus the alcohol. Never had a taste for it, or the stomach. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to define his drowsiness. He doesn’t want to join Jughead for lunch, frankly he doesn’t want to do anything except lay in bed, yet he finds himself wandering through the overgrown garden with a cigarette in hand. His attempt to find his new “friend” was easier than he’d anticipated. Regret itches up his throat when he spots two girls next to him. 

“Archie!” Jughead shouts, “Over here!” waving his hand. 

He could leave. He could turn around and leave, say he has loads of assignments to finish or he isn’t feeling well, but he doesn’t. There’s a part of him gnawing for change. A new reality where he wasn’t the talk of the town and wasn’t judged for his actions, for his trauma. 

“Hey,” The gingers tosses the drug aside, looking at the three familiar faces. An eye roll is thrown his way, but Jughead’s attempted handshake distracts him. 

“Archie, this is Betty and Veronica.” 

He sits awkwardly facing both girls, with Jughead being on the side of the table. “Nice to meet you.” He smiles nonchalantly, trying not to focus on the blonde.

Betty doesn’t look up from her school work, her hand continues to write in neat cursive filling half the page. She lets Veronica do the introduction, “Likewise.” She smiles, tucking a piece of black hair behind her ear.

Jughead proceeds to bombard Archie with questions, asking about how his first day was, and what dorm number he got, while the girls whisper. This furthermore made him resent his decision, and by the way Betty was throwing obscure looks in his direction, he wished he ditched this whole situation entirely. 

“Dear, God. Here comes Cheryl.” He rips the beanie off his head, pushing his dark hair up. 

“Don’t say anything.” The two brunettes say in sync. 

Archie’s shoulders are sore, and his head is spinning, he could really use a nap. He’s not sure if he can handle teen drama today or any day as a matter of fact. To relieve the stress in his stomach, he takes his coat off. 

“Greetings, chums.” Cheryl walks proud, her two social hand maidens behind her. “Veronica, all over the new boy, already. That knock off Hermes bag won’t get you far. Remind me again, is it from the lost and found or the flea market? What’s next selling your hair extensions to get in his pants?” 

“That’s low, Cheryl, even for you. Are you trying to-“ 

“Save it, you insufferable smurf.” She storms off, flicking her hair in Jughead’s face. 

“Just a ray of sunshine. Makes my whole day.” Jughead scoffs sarcastically, causing Betty to giggle lightly. 

“What’s Cheryl’s deal?” Archie asks, rolling up his sleeves. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Betty answers sharply, surprising herself. 

She wishes he’d leave, go back to his dorm, back to his class, back to where he came from. Anywhere than the current picnic table she’s perched at. His intoxicating existence distracts her to the point of _no return_ , and she hates him for it. All the other schoolgirls are fawning over him and she hates that about him. It’s no longer hate, it’s pure jealousy.

“Besides being fascist barbie, we don’t really know. People say she killed her brother, downed him in a river, and burned her house down with her parents in it.” The raven-haired girl informs him. 

Archie’s eyes widen, his weariness only escalating. What had they done, what had everyone in this school done to get here, he thinks. 

“She’s a priss reigning over the pits hell, not a murderer.” Jughead turns his head, taking a bite out of his sandwich. 

“It’s not that bad here, is it?” Archie gulps, hesitant about the answers he may receive. 

“Could be better for a private school.” She fiddles with her pearls. 

“Boarding school.” He corrects her. “Don’t act like we’re high and mighty. There’s a reason all of us are here. We’ve all done terrible things, including you, Veronica.”

“This may be a boarding school Jug, but we are not the same. I mean you actually committed arson.”

“Arson? What exactly did you do?” Archie questions. 

“He burnt his school down.” She interrupts. 

“With no one in it.”

“Exactly. You-“

“You bullied someone into almost committing suicide, Ronnie.” Jughead turns to Betty, “Sorry.”

Betty’s glossy eyes flicker to Archie who looks sympathetic, not knowing an ounce about her past. She glances at his lips feeling the discreet concern. She shakes her head at the thought and furrows her brow. 

“Don’t act like my rebellion against the school system is remotely worse than what you did.”

Veronica’s pale as ice, “What about you golden boy.” changing the topic. “What horrible things did you do to end up in a place like this with people like us?”

“I had an affair.” He’s smug. 

“With?”

“A teacher, my music teacher.”

“Oh my, god!” Veronica jumps. 

“You had sex with your teacher?” Jughead smirks. “That sounds like-“

“Jail time to me, illegal!” Betty declares, disgust running through her features. 

“Don’t go there.” Archie looks down, playing with his thumbs. They had blown this way out of proportion. “And don’t tell anyone. Please.” Everyone nods their head. 

“Don’t worry we won’t. You’re probably the least threatening person here.” Jughead says. 

“Shit. It’s a quarter ‘til one. It’s best we all get to class before we’re late.” Veronica glances at her pocket watch, gathering her belongings. 

“Right, God forbid we don’t arrive to class on time.” Jughead jokes sardonically. 

The three split up leaving Archie alone at the table. An impulsive decision leads him to go after the blonde. Even after his best efforts to avoid her, he wants to _talk_ to her. Whatever got her here invades his mind. Part of him wanted to know why she was so cold towards him, why she wouldn’t even conversate with him. 

He runs up behind her, throwing on his jacket in the process. The covered pathway blocks them from the light drizzle in the afternoon glow. Harsh tears stream down her face, and a sudden jolt runs down her spine as she realizes the redhead is walking next to her. They stop in the middle of the pavement, unsure of what would happen next. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is gentle. 

It’s unsettling how he desperately cares about her. A foreigner, he barely knew her name nevertheless what she was going through. A hand slides up her forearm, his thumb stroking the fabric. 

“What are you doing?” Letting out a low sob as she swiftly brushes his hand away and picks up her pace.

“Sorry,” He apologizes running to catch her again, “You looked sad. And you never said what you did to end up here.”

“Why do you care?” She wants him to _touch_ her again. Betty wants him to hug her, caress her back and arms — she’s secretly pleased by it all, pleased it’s Archie who came after her. 

“You’re crying.” He wants to wipe away her sunken trail of tears. He wants to see her smile. 

“So what? It’s none of your damn business.” Words leave her mouth without discretion. 

They come to a complete stop. This encounter far too intense to multitask apparently. 

“Listen, I was just making sure you were alright. It looked like you had a panic attack.”

“Well, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about it, we don’t even know each other.” She shoves her hands deep into her coat pockets, and whips around leaving the ginger in the dust. 

“Please, tell me.” He calls out, running once more. “What’s wrong?”

“Stop.” 

“Maybe I can help.”

“No! Just leave me alone.”

He stands there, on the gravel passage, pondering her words as she flees into the school. He’s left speechless, for once. The bell chimes and class is in session. It hasn’t concerned Archie, yet, he’s too taken aback to remember where exactly he is. One thought does take over his mind though, Betty Cooper, _for no reason at all._

[...] 

The blank ceiling of his dorm room doesn’t help him dream. Instead he crawls into bitter withdrawals, which leave him completely empty, and sad. The night drags on for Archie, the events of today still replaying over and over in his mind. Blind rage sets in. He could not seem to shake the expression Betty wore when she cried. As much as Archie hated to admit it, he couldn’t get the blonde out of his head. 

So he lays there, it’s depths of the night, covered by a thin blanket, wondering how on earth he had gotten feelings for a total stranger. Cold air blows in the room from his open window, he doesn’t want to get up and leave the warmth of his bed. He does so anyway, lazily strolling to the aperture. And as his hands inch to close it, there, across the courtyard in her dorm, stood Betty Cooper blurred by the distance, looking back at him. 


	2. Temporary Touch

From the stiff way Archie wakes up, to the intense headache pounding at his skull, it would have looked like he was severely hungover. He awakes far before the alarm clock rings and when it does, it initiates his relaxed muscles to spaz and tired eyes to flutter open. His only thought was of the night prior. The craving between himself and the blonde, stripped down to their bare skin and undergarments. 

The little kitchen is only a few uneasy strides away, a mini fridge is housed on the counter, waiting to be pried open. He lights a cigarette for energy and a yawn escapes his mouth, the epiphany he’s about to encounter will only leave him with regret and an uneasy drowse.

A freckled hand pulls at the fridge handle, he expects the contents inside to be nothing but empty. White bread and marmalade are displayed on a tray and a sleeve of sugary biscuits, jam, butter and cream, and tea and coffee line the cooler shelves. Such things do not come without a price. 

Archie rakes jam over a slice of pale bread — _nursery food_ , he thinks with a stomach full of nicotine, his belly empty and tight as a drum. It’s cordon bleu compared to his breakfast back home which consisted of soggy cereal or burnt toast prepped in a rush. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth contrasting the slick sweet jam. 

[...]

The laughter of other students in the halls force Archie to leave his dorm. Pushing past his doors, he feels the pressure of eyes on him. His uniform is the wrong sort, tie undone messily and shirt untucked. Sweat runs down the inside of his collar. The attention makes him hard and steady, holding him down like ship _anchor._

“Archibald.” An all too familiar voice hollers.  He whips around startled by the suprise. “My office, now.” The headmaster summons. An uneasy knot sits in his stomach — fear of having done something wrong. The tired boy closes the office threshold in a light manner. He sits in the right chair across from the dean. 

“Do you know why I asked you here?” The man suggests, taking off his glasses and setting them aside. 

Archie sits up, fixing his tie, “No, not the slightest idea—why?” He stutters childishly. 

“The lacrosse team.”

“Pardon?”

“Extracurriculars. You must participate in one to pass the term. We offer a variety of unique activities, failure to complete the minimum will result in immediate termination. You seem to be quite the athlete. Your father mentioned you played football at your old school, captain as well, correct?” 

“That’s right.” He soaks in the information. 

“I see. I think you’ll exceed the expectations based on your track records, I don’t doubt that. If not, this list should help narrow down the options.” The stern man hands Archie a slip of paper. 

“Thank you.” The ginger takes it hesitantly. 

“That’s all. You may be excused.” He shoos the tired boy away. The weight on his shoulders is suddenly lifted; relief runs through his body like lighter fluid.

He sits down in his first period class, the list of activities stare back at him. The spread of options is at once mature, none of those kiddish public school clubs. The choices are so lavish by the standards, it makes Archie salivate. The choir and orchestra acuire his attention. _A reinstitution of good order,_ he thinks uncharitably — to have such adequante things. 

[...]

He manages to escape the thrilling lectures of vintage English, finding way to his locker in a heap through packed corridors. At one point, he’d noticed Betty never showed. Strangely, Archie missed her. 

“You looking for ECC’s?” The dark haired boy yells from across the hall. 

“What?” Archie furrows a brow. 

“Some extracurriculars. I’d recognize that sheet of paper anywhere.” Jughead reiterates. 

Slight annoyance sets in, and Archie is not interested in what Jughead has to say. Not yet anyway. He should leave him alone, let him rot by his lonesome, allow him to _dream_ in peace. Jughead leans on the other lockers, eyeing the redhead fumble with his belongings. 

“I don’t recommend any debate or governing coteries, fucking arrogant pricks in there.” 

Archie chuckles, “What are you in then?” 

“Journalism, and the fantastic newspaper affiliation for this shit school.” Jughead rolls his eyes. “Betty and I run both, we’re open to new members but you don’t strike me as a writer or upcoming poet. You thinking about lacrosse?” 

“And orchestra—caught between the two.” He half smiles to the other boy. 

“That’s right, you did mention something about music. Josie and her friends won’t let you in, especially mid semester. Neither will the choir, if that was your third realm. Join lacrosse, we interview the team a lot. For the paper. Maybe you’ll get featured.” Jughead winks. 

“Oh. Probably will then.” Archie shoves the paper in his locker, he’s made up his mind. “Is she okay—Betty—I mean. She wasn’t in class.” 

“If locking herself up in her room, screaming at Ronnie and I to leave her alone is being okay, then yeah, sure, Betty’s doing just fine.”

“What’s that about?”

“What, Betty? She’s got her demons like the rest of us, more fragile than anything. Certain topics can send her over the edge. It’s best you leave it alone. I’m not one for gossip, Archie, never had been.”

Archie Andrews, non-compliant. He won’t back down from anything. He’s stung at the withheld information. The remains of his sweaty red hair cling to his forehead.

“It’s just—I saw her crying yesterday. It seemed bad.”

“Leave it, Andrews.” Jughead stalks away, and Archie shuts his locker, following him like a stray puppy. 

“If you’re worried I’ll tell people, don’t be. I’ve been here, what, two days? I don’t even know anyone. What if I ask her myself—”

“No! Don’t do that.” Jughead shouts. He wipes his mouth, cupping his hand against his chin. “She tried to kill herself.” The tall boy gives in, “How she tried is up to her to tell you or not. But you shouldn’t talk about it around her—ever.” 

An overwhelming sensation of regret takes over Archie, feeling the color drain from his sculpted face, his drowse only intensifying. Perhaps it was his fault, invading her privacy, seeing her cry. It was almost creepy. Then again, they hadn’t properly met. _She’s okay, really,_ he thinks; he pretends. 

[...]

They are the popular boys, the lacrosse team, a formed cult, as if they all went to the same school, as if they all sat in the same backside table in the cafeteria and listened to the same lectures day after day. The soul being of arrogant youth, scalded. Black rimmed uniforms frame their bodies, large numbers plastered on their backs. A buff black-haired brute hands Archie his jersey — he’s of Asian decent, handsome and sleek. 

“I’m Reggie,” He arranges his features into a serene expression and guides Archie across the field where the cheerleaders and lacrosse players meet. 

“Archie.” He nods, taking the uniform from him. 

The group of people talking remind Archie of his old school — mean girls and jocks scolding the average person, acting as if their salable approval is plausible by every mean. The darkest parts of him lurk there; the past, his perpetrator. The image makes his vision blur for a second, if only he could be _home_ right now. Trepidation slowly eats at his insides, noticing Veronica and the other cheerleaders are talking with Betty and Jughead. 

“Archie! Over here!” Jughead whales, motioning Archie to unite with them. 

“Uh, hey.” He says awkwardly. Betty takes a step back attempting to hide behind her friend, a breeze stirs her hair. 

Their lingering tension up in the air and into dust. They lock eyes once more — a tryst so powerful they couldn’t seem to stop, the midnight stare from afar through clouded glass. Inevitable feelings _shook_ loose. 

“Hey, Teen Outlander.” Veronica laughs, and Jughead tosses a snare in her direction. 

“It’s you’re lucky day, Red. We’ve got interviews!” The beanie-wearing-boy taps his pen against his clipboard. 

“You want to interview me? I haven’t even played yet.” Archie shrugs. 

“Oh, no, not me. I’ve got Reggie, thank God.” He scoffs. “Betty will be doing the honours.” Jughead moves revealing a scared Betty. 

She tugs his arm, “Jug, I thought maybe we could trade-” Betty stumbles with her words but her eyes never leave his. 

“Nonsense! I’m not spending my fifteen minute break with you, Betty,” Veronica smiles, “And ‘Mantle the Magnificent.’” Veronica declares rolling her eyes. No time for discussion, it’s set. 

The interrogation is slow at first, painfully asking about Archie’s name, age, and height makes her want to flee back to her dorm room.Betty’s relieved when Veronica takes over the actual questioning portion of the interview but she’s slightly jealous. _Why does Veronica like him so much_ , Betty thinks. She can feel tears welt up in her eyes, she’s a wreck, a whole ship _wreck._ It’s nothing she couldn’t blame on allergies or the weather, or at least that’s what she’ll say. A whistle is blown. Perfect timing.

“Guess my fifteen minutes of freedom are finally up. Bye, Betty.” Veronica twirls around, “See you around, Archie.” A soft grin forms on her face. 

The ginger nods and takes a deep breath, not saying anything in return. The real section of this interview was about to begin; the downward spiral of it all. Betty can feel her face start to heat up, and with that her fists curl. Keen nails dig deep into her palms; cutting her soft skin sharply, letting out small fragments of blood. Pain is what she wants to feel, her contorted face is obvious. 

“What was that last night?” Archie spits, no longer sympathetic. He seethes her, hates her with every bone in his muscular body, just from her susceptible judgment radiating off her cold face. He can feel the scowl forming on his own, the snarl falling on his lips and his nerves jittering with aggravation. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turns, walking back to campus, pushing her fair bangs out of her face. Every ounce of her wants him to leave her alone, yet she yearns to feel his touch again and again. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He grabs her arm and spins her around, his breath hot against her face. “The window—I saw you.” Teeth delve into his bottom lip seductively. 

They stand there for a moment, so close to one another, not saying a word. Eyes find their way to each other, the competition back in order. They breathe rhythmically, hearing the soft rise and fall of their lungs. She’s outlined against clouded grey skies, trembling. His eyelids, the very color of those clouds, _rain_ down to her lips. They could collapse right then and there, pressed together like two palms and hold each other as if the world was ending. The feeling doesn’t last long. 

“You’re delusional. You must’ve been dreaming.” She shoves him off, lost in the high color of his cheeks. 

It was no such dream. Raindrops on windows bead down to the ground. The memory of red hair engraved into her skull. His body so effortlessly carved and cut even with the space between them that night. Her longing for joy had sent a chill down her spine, leaving her pink patted barlette tight around her upper ribs. And he could be just that — the joy, her happiness. The hazy picture is surreal, the butterflies she had felt have suddenly gone away. 

“I know what I saw.” Archie stands straight, leaning forward. He takes her wrist. 

They are the only two left on the far side of the field next to the deep pine forest. Bickering like husband and wife that had gone through an unhappy marriage forced by peers. The world around them is silent and still, no one is paying them any attention. There are no birds chirping, no bugs buzzing, no animals chittering, just the sounds of their feet against the earth. 

The past flashes before Betty’s eyes. Her sister, Polly—pregnant with twins and Jason, her former lover, nowhere in sight. A weaselly snake he was, disappearing and leaving the girl he’d knocked up with his children. Rotten red bastard, a close spitting image of Archie but much more slender and strange. She was there too, helping her sister, stuck in a rut of depression. 

“You don’t know shit.” She yanks away, the flame in her eyes escalating. The more Betty tried to deny her words, the less meaning they held behind them. Every insult she could possibly come up with buzzes through her brain, eager to hurt him. 

“I know you tried to kill yourself.” He pauses, taking a step closer. 

Betty brushes past him, colliding their shoulders together. “You don’t know shit,” She repeats. Her eerie eyes unwavering, green flecked with gold. A _flood_ of embarrassment, fury—everything—engulfs her quiddity whole. 

[...]

She can still remember the dark wreath under his orange hair, the way his tragic eyes had flared before her. In the small room, her sobs crash down like a storm. Her sadness was like a splinter. Give it time and it’ll push it’s way out. Only, Betty hadn’t expected to be alone when it did. The scars on her palms are calloused, plucked with dry blood. There was nothing to combat the invasion of deadly silence. 

She should’ve known, not to go back alone. Betty lifts herself to her feet, she needs to find Jughead. Tell him everything she was feeling. Maybe he would help. 

She opens the door, and stalks into the empty corridors. Looming around corners, sliding her phone to her hand. Betty sends him a text. 

Courtyard? Please. 

Read 5:45 p.m. 

Be there in five. 

Read 5:55 p.m. 

She hadn’t set out to confide her feelings in Jughead, a longtime friend. She hadn’t set out to find Archie either. The light washing over him was golden, setting his red hair bronze. 

Coming upon the secluded hallway, she can see Veronica angled next to him. Her fingers caressing his face, he doesn’t look pleased. Betty pries her eyes open to find Veronicaleaning into him. Like she wanted to kiss him.And she does. She kisses him, firmly, knocking his head back a little. Archie’s eyes are tightly shut, his nose scrunched, he doesn’t seem content. That is until he pushes back, hands finding way to her shoulders. His posture is uncomfortable from the position, and he gently breaks the kiss by turning away. Veronica’s eyes are shut, still calming down from the one sided high. 

Archie’s neck snaps around, grief-stricken. He wants to apologize from the act that had felt like adultery — the sensation of open flesh. An infatuation, his ears red as stained wine on a cotton blouse. Betty’s merely a pond and he’s the ocean. And she’s lost at sea, in his eyes, in her tears. The apprehension in her stomach hits it’s peak. In the huge hall, her beauty shone like a flame, vital and bright, drawing his eyes against his will. 

Spite had driven her lifeless, like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and stomped on. It’s a curse—him—and it’s growing. Rooted deep within her pale skin was an intimate attachment to the redhead; she runs at the idea. 

“Betty!” A voice cries out. It could’ve been anyone’s; Jughead’s, Veronica’s, Archie’s. 

Other ideas come instead. The curve of his neck, hair gleaming in the tainted sun, hands with flickering tendons. The way she wrenched her gaze from him and remembered the coldness of his eyes on the field as he chased after her. 

_Like what Jason did to Polly?_ Always, she’d remembered her mother’s words. She was Polly and he was Jason. Mistaking reality for fantasy, dancing on a fine line of wanting him and hating him. She missed his hands solely for what they did. Betty owed herself far more than _some temporary touch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... that was... something... i promise i’m not a varchie shipper AND things will get much more heated between betty and archie in the next chapters


	3. Some Way, Some Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is... smutty... hehehe

Across the table in the newsroom, Betty sulked and prattled about the disquisition she was assigned to write. The early sun came to rest upon her neck like stacks of bricks. She kept her fetching keen eyes glued to the vacant screen, the blue shrilling light shinned back at her with sheer imprisonment. 

Her head was completely and utterly empty. No thoughts came to mind, no words, no ideas; that is until her fingertips touched the keys. The recollection of fiery red hair twisted in her gut as anger arose in her cheeks and flew to the folio like a short-lit fuse. 

_Why the hell do I have to write about him,_ Betty says to herself. The little taps and clacks blend together into a steady rhythm like such on pianos. She hit each key with precision and earnest, skillfully. And music did come out, a formed symphony. A symphony of hate, a song of silent words.

She could see him faintly in her mind, his long muscles stretching out in the field, his aching touch brushing her plush skin; the complete shame in his face when she had caught him kissing the raven haired girl. The tears that streamed down her face, the way he had guiltily called after her was coming forth at once. It was all too much. She had far less remorse for him now. 

Something snapped in a way Betty couldn’t explain, only Archie locking lips with another undid her. It broke her at last. 

Nothing could stop her harsh hands from bruising the letters on the keyboard. Pure hatred poured from her soul, brutally spewing on the digital page. Her frustrated hands hit the desk in a loud _pound._ Whatever she had composed, whatever disgrace she had conducted would unknowingly heighten her desires and destroy him. 

_Click._ The report had been published. All her research from the morning, all the factual evidence she had retrieved was now exposed to everyone. Everything in Archie’s past; his perpetrator, his sins had been revealed and plastered all over the school’s bulletin board, by an intentionally spiteful essay in a matter of seconds. 

Pleasure hitched up Betty’s throat. 

[...]

He thought of her. All afternoon, all night and now all morning. Other than the unsteady guilt sodding in his stomach, he had felt implicitly sorry. Empathetic for his actions that were somewhat sinister. How foolish of him to let Veronica kiss him. How foolish of him to let it happen, when he wanted it to be her. The solicitude was uncontrollable, he could barely process the thought. The thought being he liked Betty. He could not fathom or explain the rush of heat shooting through his body, nor could he ignore it in such unholy places below his belt.

Absently, Archie waltzed around the overgrowncourtyard. A lonely bench called out for him, he sat down. His limbs did not skew like his brain, instead they arranged themselves with total perfection. Relishing in the burn the cigarette gave his lungs, he leaned back and let the early sun fall on his face. The chap taste left his mouth desiccated. 

Perhaps what was most remarkable was his unselfconsciousness. He was completely unaware of his effect on the other students, evidently as girls and boys reluctantly starred at him. Footsteps sound close, his eyes open carefully, as to not let the light blind him. 

“Jug—?” Archie flinches. 

“Hello,” Jughead smiles. “May I?” He gestures to the pack of cigarettes next to the ginger. 

“You want one—? You smoke?”

“Occasionally.”

He sat closer to Archie than strictly necessary, his worn-in leather Oxfords scuffed against the gravel as the two sat in silence. Jughead let out a deep breath that morphed into a sigh, swallowing saliva that wasn’t there. The redhead studied the brunette for a while longer, seeing him struggle with the drug in hand. Glancing about, the smoke fuming out of Jughead’s nose became a clumsy cough. 

“You don’t smoke do you?” Archie leers, taking a huff with a grunt-y laugh following. 

“Was it really that obvious?” He winces, tossing the bud onto the ground and putting it out with his shoe. 

_No chance of getting out now_ , he thinks. The ginger’s mouth drops to a sappy frown, he turns his head. 

“Y’seen Betty around?” Jughead bargains. 

Archie’s ears perked up, as he shifts himself from his slouch. All of the sudden, his interest sparked at Betty’s name. A stray lock of red fell half into his eyes, he blew it away. Remini-scing of the breeze that stirred her golden hair on the grass sward, still lost in her forest green eyes. 

“No—uh—why?” Archie spat defensively. 

“Said she wanted to talk yesterday, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

“Oh.” He knew exactly where she was, watching him and Veronica. 

“I’m worried about her, y’know, with her situation and all.” 

Jealousy made way to the surface of his skin.  _ Were they together _ _,_ he ponders dumbfounded. The hot feeling returns, leaving goosebumps along his freckled forearms. Resisting the urge to snarl at the dark-haired boy, Archie puts his cigarette out on the bench with much force. The mere idea of Betty and Jughead being intimate with one another makes his stomach flip with nausea and a sudden urge faint. 

“Is that ‘cause you and Betty are... together?” The ginger bites, surprising himself with the proposition. 

“What?! No!” Jughead scoffs and then proceeds to laugh hysterically. Bursts of giggles fill the quiet air while his slender hands slap his knees. 

A flush of red spreads over Archie’s cheeks, “It just seems like you two are really close.”

The brunette shrieks, “Oh, please! Betty and I are basically siblings!”

“What?” Confusion strikes Archie. 

“Our parents got married,” Jughead wipes his face, recovering from the mass hysteria he was just in. “We’re step-siblings, we’ve only known each other for a year and half or so. We’re not that close but we’re still friends.”

“Ah—I see.”

A loud beep causes Jughead to whip out his cellular.  _ Was it Betty _ , Archie wonders. 

“Holy shit,”

“What is it?”

He looks up meeting Archie’s gaze, discomfort forces him to turn away. A hand pinches the brunette’s nose, as he prepares himself for the confrontation. His aspirations were shredded. 

“Nothing—“ Jughead barely manages to get out before Archie snatches it. 

The phone glowing in Archie’s veiny hand seems too far out of touch. An image of himself, in his old football jersey, daunts back at him. His thumb scrolls down toward the headline of the article, it reads:

_ “NEW: Archie Andrews, former musician and recent addition to Cambridge’s Lacrosse Team, has had quite the track record. Not only was his former teacher, Geraldine Grundy, tutoring him in music, it seems they were also engaging in other sorts of physical practice. Yet, he couldn’t even make our very own choir, let’s just say she wasn’t improving his musical abilities...”  _

Could that have been how it was? A desperate boy eager for lust and a teacher in love with a student, fucking around during tutoring hours. That’s not what Archie remembers and the truth—the truth was something else, washed away. Manipulation was the real truth. He had only been a boy, a stupid innocent boy. And she was a monster. Archie’s unprepossessing face squares with dark resolve. 

He resists the urge to fall down to his knees and cry. Showing emotion, in public, would be too humiliating for him to bare. Instead, he shoves Jughead’s phone back to him, leaving him puzzled.

He glances towards the newspaper room, and through the window Betty glares back. Her movements are unclear but soon she vanished from the clear glass. Haunted, he turns away. 

“Wait—“

Racing to his room, teardrops begin fall down his face. As he reaches his dorm, he doesn’t wipe them. He lets them pool at edge of his chin and at the base of his collar. Archie’s whole world had been ruined, his fresh start tarnished, and his new beginning out from under his feet. In the course of three days. 

Now, everyone had known his dirty little secret.

It was filthy, and he was ashamed by it. Ashamed he had been taken advantage of. But worst of all, he had been strung out to believe it was love. To believe it was real. He had been such an outsider—a white elm growing at the very end of town. All his years of being irreproachable have sloughed away, and he stands there shocked with a primatial feeling. 

Archie remembers the first time he had realized the extents of his trauma. The adrenaline caused his heart to palpitate at such rates he nearly passed out. He’d been met with a sincere look from his father, Fred, who probably thought him an untouchable. A revelation had been revealed to him through the many panic and anxiety attacks, and now that he had really understood what happened to him, he could move on. 

What really made him angry though, was knowing Betty had wanted to hurt him intentionally. The girl had ruined him and he couldn’t see why. Fortunately for Archie, the fluttery feelings have vanished. He loathed her now. _Some way, some day_ revenge would be returned. Given his current circumstances, he couldn’t face vengeance today, no, he had to gather himself at once.

[...]

“I understand you’re frustrated—“ The dean tries to calm Archie down. 

Days had passed and the article had been taken down. Days had passed with classmates mocking and poking fun at Archie. It was uncomfortable, eyes were constantly watching his every move. Between the looks of disgust and praise, the tired boy wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of the earth. He was the center of attention—the big problem surfacing. And facing Betty everyday was worse than anything.

But now, it was time for the resolution between them to begin. 

“Frustrated? I’m well beyond frustrated, sir. She had no right to broadcast my private life like that!” Archie stands, raising his hands up into the air. 

“It was public knowledge!” Betty remarked, still firmly seated. 

Archie looked stung, “She should be expelled!” He declared. 

The office goes quiet, while Betty fights back a laugh and Archie a scream, the headmaster motions Archie to sit back down. He can see the blonde straighten up out of the corner of his eye. His pasty, knobbled knuckles grip the leather armrest. Betty notices that after all this, he has almost looked handsome, his bleak bones have spread out and his red hair is hanging in his eyes, limp and cold with sweat. The light catches the corner of his smooth cheek. There would be no saving her from her desires now.

“Mr. Andrews, relax. I’m well aware of your anger. However, you and Miss Cooper are both in extremely emotional states right now. I’m not sure expulsion will solve anything. What she did will not go unnoticed, a punishment will be enforced, I assure you.”

“Sir—“ Archie stands again. 

Betty snickers. 

“As far as the resolution goes, Elizabeth’s a part of a therapy group here on campus, I believe you ought to join her. This behaviour cannot continue, I’m afraid you’ll have to work this out. Together.” 

“Together? No. I won’t participate in anything with her.”

“I cannot have a feud amongst my students, Archibald, not with the chaos created. You both will figure this out, or see to it that you two will have severe penalization.” 

“I haven’t even done anything!” Archie justified. 

“It’s settled! You’re excused Mr. Andrews.” 

He grabs his satchel, scorning, and stomps out of the threshold. 

Betty smirks. “Sir, with all-do respect—“

“Hush! This behaviour must end. You knew what you were doing when writing that article, Elizabeth, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. So with that, your community service hours will double, and so will your volunteer hours! Therapy between the both of you is mandatory. You will bring him and you will help him!”

“But—“

“Out! Now!”

[...]

A knock sounds at Archie’s door; it’s forceful and aggressive. Must’ve been a kick. 

“What?” He flung the door open. Betty had changed from her uniform into more casual clothing. Her silhouette is soft in beige pants and a shapeless sweater, only the waves of a sandy, blonde ponytail cuts her out the same. 

_What was she doing here, she shouldn’t be here,_ Archie thinks.

He stiffens; Archie is frozen very still, in an artless sprawl. The blonde brushes past him, an all too familiar feeling. 

“What?” Betty mimics his confusion while entering the dorm, “What do you think, Andrews! We’re late to therapy because you didn’t show to our meeting spot! Why aren’t you ready?!” Her small arms whale about.

He gives her a look as if daring to remark. 

A week or two had passed since their arrangement had begun. Some small clusters formed, Archie begged not be forced back into remedy. But Betty had stood alone, always last to leave, always last to cry after he had gone away. When they were seated together the first day, how he yelled and yelled. Archie was not about to offer her anything, no gratification towards his lacerations. The blonde did not hurry over their sessions either, she wanted him to ramble on and on until he’d accidentally slip up.

Archie is proud of the fact that Betty hadn’t received more insight to his life. He shielded it as best he could. She would find out more eventually—eventually he had to talk. And so would she. 

“Again, I ask why aren’t you ready?” Betty says, small eyebrows drawing up.

“Lacrosse, I was going to shower, then you showed up, Cooper. But you want me to sit through two hours of therapy, like this?” His finger trails along his muscular body, slowly, unsheathing Betty’s eyes against her will. “I mean, I know I look sexy and all with these sweaty cloths, but don’t you think we’ll get stares?” Archie cocks a brow shamelessly. 

“God! What the hell is wrong with you! You’re a tool, I can’t stand to be here any longer.” Betty turns her head, feet still in place. 

“Then why are you still standing in my room?” Archie smiles like a dog. 

“Whatever, I’m leaving.” Betty moved around him reaching for the door, only managing to turn the handle before Archie followed, placing his hand on top of the already half open door and slammed it shut. His body loomed over hers from behind.

“That’s too bad. ‘Cause I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me in the shower.” He whispers against her ear, with a touch of desperation. 

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Like I’d ever do that.” Her body reeled away from his, hands slowly grazing his chest in the process. “You’re far more willing than I am.” Betty lengthened the space between them. 

“And why’s that?” His voice scratchy and low. 

_ Closer, closer, closer, closer. _

“Take a guess.”

“Now you’re messing with my head,” He laughs. 

“I’m sure your head was plenty messed up before me.”

_ So close. _

“No, it wasn’t.”

And then he was kissing her. 

He wanted to irritate her. Get under her skin. Mess with her because she was the enemy. Because she had hurt him so terribly bad. How could he resist—she was a dream. 

Betty could think of the many reasons why she shouldn’t be kissing him, she just couldn’t deliberate any of them at the moment. Instead, she devours him in turn, viciously searching for some long lost satisfaction. Perhaps it’s the way Archie’s lips tasted better than she’d imagined. Or how his hands made her skin tingle when he held her face and hips. 

When Archie’s lips move down to her neck, he stumbles backward, shuffling towards the bathroom, taking Betty with him. Her fingers are laced in his red hair. His mouth never leaves her skin. There’s nothing except heat and chills all at once. He reaches the vee at the base of her throat, his hand draws softly across her pulse. A low moan escapes her mouth. 

Before Betty could realize, the shower was running and they were both standing in it. The burned spot on her tongue tingles when he traces it with his own. The water drenching them is warm and exhilarating. Archie rips out the band that holds together her hair. Then she stops. Looking into his hazel eyes, she can’t help but fall deeper into need. It’s only then that Betty really sees him.

She wastes no time pulling off his shirt, revealing his stone hard body. Something she yearned to see for quite some time. Once done, she reaches for her own, dropping it as fast she could; desperate to watch him unbutton her pants. 

“What are we doing—“ He heaves, slipping his legs out of his damp trousers one by one. 

“Shut up.” Betty’s bra and panties came off next, following his boxers. She kisses his cheek softly, then retreats back in front of him. He’s stood still, taking in her grace. 

Archie licked his lips and pressed his body into hers against the cold tiles—next to the shower head. He leaned  farther, placing his nose next to hers. He’s not kissing her exactly, just touching her cheek with his lips. Betty had to make a serious effort to keep her breathing calm. When he does decide to kiss her again, it’s right below her ear in that sensitive spot.

Then he moved lower, trailing his lips down over her breasts, sucking and lolling her pliant flesh. “Ah—“ Betty’s breath hitched, caught in the way his touch made her unravel. She was sensitive, he liked that. His wet hair brushed her skin, which made her shiver. She needs movement. Archie continues further down, littering kisses along her belly and inner thighs, while his hands grip her back, slowly lifting her up. Betty raises her hips and wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. 

Deeper. 

“You’re beautiful, ” Archie whispers, breath shaky. “You’re so beautiful.” He let out a groan, palms moulding to her ribs. 

He felt Betty flinch beneath his touch.

“Show me.” She pleaded.

Their movements were irresistible, uncontrollable and rough. The occasional gasps Betty let out filled the air between their abrasive kisses, as he poured both his unrestrained want and hate into them.

Even beneath the hot water that dribbled down their bodies, they were effortlessly in motion. Hips rocking together in rhythm, driving further in. Betty’s skin prickled with an edging anticipation. Archie’s teeth sunk into her shoulder, preventing a scream of pleasure, as he continued rutting into her harder and harder. Heat bloomed heavily between Betty’s thighs. Her hand gripped the curtain rod as to steady herself from her undoing. Pulling his pelvis deeper inside her, her head hit the wall with a loud _thud,_ moaning so seductively. His eyes soaked up her release while urgently picking up pace, and soon Archie quickly followed, spilling himself into her. A string of silent curses and praise slipped from his mouth, still hungry for her lips.

They were still now. Sticky and wet and lost in unexplainable thought. Harsh grunts came and went as the two were still pressed together. A devilish grin made way to his face, he had successfully gained control over her.Soon revenge would follow. _Some way, some day_ she would feel the pain he had felt. 

But not now. Now he would let his _real_ feelings take over. He savoured the scent of her skin. The water turned off, and the cold air hit them. They stared at each other with a shy liking. The room was dark now, outside a soft pale-pink glow. He pressed their foreheads together.

And then falling deeply into something close to, but not quite love, was empty assurance, that nothing like this would happen again. 

“I’m sorry.” Betty says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well! i didn’t plan on any of that happening but it did! ALSO i did not have time to proof read, i just wanted to update as soon as possible

**Author's Note:**

> a little.... christmas gift


End file.
